Read Online A Fractured Light by Jocelyn Davies - Free Book Online
Authors: Jocelyn Davies
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hallway. Her voice was nervous and didn’t sound right. “Everything okay in there? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine!” I called. “I’ll be out in a second!” I turned to my full-length mirror and let the towel fall to the floor around me. My stomach was smooth and unmarked, as if I’d never been stabbed at all. I couldn’t believe it. I ran my fingers across my skin, but they felt nothing. Goose bumps prickled my arms and legs, and suddenly I had the creepy feeling of being watched. I quickly stepped into the old flannel boxers and pulled the T-shirt over my head. It felt like forever since I’d put them on, and I relished the feel of the soft cotton. I finished brushing my hair, pulling it up into a knot on the top of my head.
Suddenly I winced, pitching forward. The room seemed to spin and fade away into darkness. When I looked into the mirror again, I had to grab the dresser with both hands for support. A dark wet spot was blooming from the center of my shirt. Frantic, I lifted it, and what I saw made me scream out loud.
There was a gaping stab wound through my stomach, seeping blood onto my hands, the dresser, the carpet. My vision ran red with it. “Jo!” I yelled. “Aunt Jo!”
“What is it?” She came bursting into the room, and everything came back into focus. The light returned, and my dizziness cleared. “Skye?” she asked, coming to me. “Are you okay?”
“I—” I looked down at my hands, the carpet, my stomach. There was no wound, no blood. Everything was the way it had been. “It’s nothing,” I said. “I’m—I’m sorry. I thought . . .”
She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. I had to stop dwelling on what had happened. I was home now. It was time to move on. “I’m fine.”
“Come downstairs,” she said. She looked so helpless, like she was running through a mental checklist of all the things she might have done to drive me away. “I made you something. We’ll talk.”
We sat across the table in the kitchen. Aunt Jo had whipped up my favorite snack while I was in the shower, and the warm, fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon cookies now sat, cooling, on a plate between us.
“I’m not going to push you,” Aunt Jo said. “You’re a good kid, Skye, and I trust you. You know that, right? I trust you to make your own decisions and not get influenced by a bad crowd.” She twirled the plate nervously in her fingers. “But I need to know where you were.” She paused. “And you’re definitely grounded.”
“But I—”
“No buts. That’s not negotiable. I was worried sick about you. What was I supposed to think? Do you even understand how selfish it was to disappear like that?”
“I guess not,” I said hoarsely. This was the worst—getting yelled at, feeling guilty for something that had been beyond my control. I wanted to yell, “ None of it was my fault!” But I held it in for my safety—and for Aunt Jo’s. Who knew what the Order would do to her if I told her the truth?
I was sick of everything being out of my control. Anger burned through me as I clenched my fists under the table.
“So. Where were you? Not even your friends knew. Were you with those guys? The two you were telling me about?”
I wondered, for a moment, if I could get away with telling her an abbreviated version of the truth. The idea of continuing to lie to Aunt Jo—someone who had always treated me like I was her real, blood daughter—made me feel sick.
“There’s a cabin, in the woods. It’s not too far from here. I . . . discovered it. On a hike.” I swallowed. “I was scared.” And that, at least, was the truth. “I was standing there in the hospital with Cassie, and it looked like she might not . . .” I found myself getting choked up. “It looked like she was going to die, and it felt like my fault. Like I wasn’t there for her when she needed me this semester.” Aunt Jo murmured
“I’m fine!” I called. “I’ll be out in a second!” I turned to my full-length mirror and let the towel fall to the floor around me. My stomach was smooth and unmarked, as if I’d never been stabbed at all. I couldn’t believe it. I ran my fingers across my skin, but they felt nothing. Goose bumps prickled my arms and legs, and suddenly I had the creepy feeling of being watched. I quickly stepped into the old flannel boxers and pulled the T-shirt over my head. It felt like forever since I’d put them on, and I relished the feel of the soft cotton. I finished brushing my hair, pulling it up into a knot on the top of my head.
Suddenly I winced, pitching forward. The room seemed to spin and fade away into darkness. When I looked into the mirror again, I had to grab the dresser with both hands for support. A dark wet spot was blooming from the center of my shirt. Frantic, I lifted it, and what I saw made me scream out loud.
There was a gaping stab wound through my stomach, seeping blood onto my hands, the dresser, the carpet. My vision ran red with it. “Jo!” I yelled. “Aunt Jo!”
“What is it?” She came bursting into the room, and everything came back into focus. The light returned, and my dizziness cleared. “Skye?” she asked, coming to me. “Are you okay?”
“I—” I looked down at my hands, the carpet, my stomach. There was no wound, no blood. Everything was the way it had been. “It’s nothing,” I said. “I’m—I’m sorry. I thought . . .”
She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t read.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. I had to stop dwelling on what had happened. I was home now. It was time to move on. “I’m fine.”
“Come downstairs,” she said. She looked so helpless, like she was running through a mental checklist of all the things she might have done to drive me away. “I made you something. We’ll talk.”
We sat across the table in the kitchen. Aunt Jo had whipped up my favorite snack while I was in the shower, and the warm, fresh-from-the-oven cinnamon cookies now sat, cooling, on a plate between us.
“I’m not going to push you,” Aunt Jo said. “You’re a good kid, Skye, and I trust you. You know that, right? I trust you to make your own decisions and not get influenced by a bad crowd.” She twirled the plate nervously in her fingers. “But I need to know where you were.” She paused. “And you’re definitely grounded.”
“But I—”
“No buts. That’s not negotiable. I was worried sick about you. What was I supposed to think? Do you even understand how selfish it was to disappear like that?”
“I guess not,” I said hoarsely. This was the worst—getting yelled at, feeling guilty for something that had been beyond my control. I wanted to yell, “ None of it was my fault!” But I held it in for my safety—and for Aunt Jo’s. Who knew what the Order would do to her if I told her the truth?
I was sick of everything being out of my control. Anger burned through me as I clenched my fists under the table.
“So. Where were you? Not even your friends knew. Were you with those guys? The two you were telling me about?”
I wondered, for a moment, if I could get away with telling her an abbreviated version of the truth. The idea of continuing to lie to Aunt Jo—someone who had always treated me like I was her real, blood daughter—made me feel sick.
“There’s a cabin, in the woods. It’s not too far from here. I . . . discovered it. On a hike.” I swallowed. “I was scared.” And that, at least, was the truth. “I was standing there in the hospital with Cassie, and it looked like she might not . . .” I found myself getting choked up. “It looked like she was going to die, and it felt like my fault. Like I wasn’t there for her when she needed me this semester.” Aunt Jo murmured
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